


Sparkle

by Jaybeefoxy



Series: Flufftober Prompts 2020 [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Do Not Translate, Fluff, Flufftober 2020, M/M, Mycroft and Greg's sex holiday, Mystrade fluff, You do not have permission to post to another site, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybeefoxy/pseuds/Jaybeefoxy
Summary: Everything that sparkles triggers Greg's memories.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Flufftober Prompts 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950532
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Sparkle

**Author's Note:**

> Day five of Flufftober 2020. The inscription on Mycroft's wedding present to Greg is inspired by the dedication in one of Mark's books to his husband Ian.

Sparkling things always drew Greg's memory back to his wedding day, the second one, not the first. Best consign the first one to the vaults and throw away the key. No, the second one was... _incomparable_. The whole day sparkled, and Greg was neither one for whimsy, nor much in the way of bling for that matter, and yet…

First off there had been a layer of snow the night before and a frost that morning, which made everything sparkle in the little churchyard on the estate where Mycroft had grown up. The church was very old, sixth century, with small arched windows and an ancient crypt, surrounded by yew trees hundreds of years old. It had seen life and death and all points between, that church, for thousands of years. It made him feel at once very small and insignificant, and yet part of a much larger plan, an important thread in the tapestry, with a crucial role to play. He was the cottar pin without which the engine might fail. _How did that rhyme go?_ For want of a nail, the shoe is lost*. That was it. Small actions can have big consequences. The small action of asking Mycroft out for coffee two years ago kind of proved his point there. 

Mycroft's parents had been present, his mum in her sparkly diamond necklace and a large lapel brooch that caught the weak winter sun, shattering it into scintillating light beams. The stained glass had fractured the sunlight into rainbow colours projected onto the floor where both men stood to make their vows. Sherlock and John had done the same the year before. They had then taken a turn at acting as best men to their best men. The sunlight glinted on their twinned gold rings sitting on the velvet cushion that Rosie was holding. Her little flower-girl tiara sparkled in the same patch of light.

The wedding venue had been tastefully decorated with dove grey and wine red, bows on all the chair backs, and small crystals scattered across the tabletops that caught in the overhead lights. Tall glass cylinders packed with tiny LEDs glittered and sparkled on the middle of each table. Greg hardly tasted the food, and couldn't remember what he had eaten anyway, so captivated was he by his husband sitting next to him. Mycroft had made small talk with his brother, but most of his attention had been on Greg. 

As they left for a late charter flight to their honeymoon destination, the stars glittered and sparkled in the night sky above them. They were leaving a country in the grip of winter for warmer climes, for a relaxing ‘sex holiday’ as Sherlock had so tastefully put it. Greg remembered taking out his gold pocket watch, his wedding present (among other things) from Mycroft, and watched how it sparkled in the console lights above his seat. It was engraved simply _MH to GL, love of my life_. 

The view from their villa was beautiful, sun sparkling on the sea as it washed across the white sand of the pristine beach, the noise of the surf an ever present rhythm of their days. The water in their villa’s infinity pool glinted as the sun rose, the warm breeze lifted the hairs on his arms, and Greg’s skin bronzed as the days passed. Mycroft remained pale and gorgeous, although his freckles showed up more and the sunlight brought out the copper in his hair. Soft linen clothing and straw hats were the order of the day, although they didn’t make it out of bed for the first 24 hours. 

From that day, anything that sparkled would draw Greg's memory unerringly back to those particular moments in his life, and while he was hard pressed to find the words to describe how good they had been, and how many great memories they had provided, he felt certain that the best was yet to come.

**Author's Note:**

> The proverb that Greg mentions is this one, if memory serves.
> 
> _For want of a nail, the shoe is lost._
> 
> _For want of a shoe, the horse is lost._
> 
> _For want of a horse, the soldier is lost._
> 
> _For want of a soldier the battle is lost._
> 
> _For want of a battle, the king is lost._
> 
> _For want of a king, the country is lost._
> 
> _For want of a country, the people are lost_


End file.
